The Man Who Forgot How to Live
by theofoz
Summary: The boy-who-lived is all grown up, complete with his happy ending: loving wife, three great kids, big house in the suburbs, career success. Harry Potter is just starting to suspect that contentment isn't all it's cracked up to be when he receives terrible news from an old friend. The Elder Wand is gone and someone is hunting him again - and his hero skills are a bit rusty!
1. Chapter 1: Just Another Day

**AN: Here's an opening shot! Based on reviews, may continue and spin out the story. But if people do want more, fair warning: I will most likely have to add chapters very slowly, so please be patient! Thanks**_  
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The floor was cold against Harry's bare feet, and he summoned his slippers with a wordless spell. Better, he thought, as the heating charm embedded in the terry cloth automatically activated upon contact with his skin.

"Best gift ever," he muttered, mentally thanking his youngest son, Albie, for his last Father's Day offering. Though he was also partial to the mood tie George had just given him for Christmas. He thought it would save a great deal of time and trouble if his secretary knew to hold his calls whenever his necktie turned red. Indeed, spell phones were one of the more irritating Weasley Company inventions of the last 10 years, he reflected. No such thing as privacy anymore.

He stood up, and winced as his knees creaked and groaned. What was it about turning 40, he wondered? It seemed like one day, everything was fine, and the next, everything was sore and there was hair growing where he didn't want it and falling out where he did. The closer he got to 50, the worse it got.

"Ligamen lenitas," he muttered, easing the pain in his joints. The spell wouldn't last, but at least it would make him more comfortable for awhile.

Something had woken him up, and he wasn't sure what. He had an uneasy sense, the way one feels when there's a strange noise in a silent house full of sleeping people, or when one's left the oven on by accident. He summoned his bathrobe, deciding to go downstairs and look around, maybe get a glass of warm milk.

He rubbed his hand absently across the scar on his forehead, which he often did when he was worried. He could swear sometimes - like right now - he could feel a slight ache there. He remembered from his childhood something about old muggle sailors feeling a storm coming on in their wooden legs, and he wondered if it was like that. Phantom limbs, they were called. So he supposed that made his a phantom evil megalomaniac? He shuddered at the thought.

Never did figure out why muggle sailors have wooden legs, he thought idly.

Downstairs, he checked his work spell phone, but the only new messages were from the Auror Information Technology Team, notifying him of a network upgrade, and two outages. Naturally, he thought, rolling his eyes. The Ministry insisted on having these last generation models because they were supposedly more secure to intrusions from dark magic, but he figured Shacklebolt just didn't want to spend the money on new ones.

He looked at the family clock his mother-in-law had given them. Albie and Lily were at Hogwarts, though he saw that Lily was not asleep. Somehow, he suspected his 15 year old daughter was not studying at 2 am on a Thursday evening. He made a mental note to send her a howler tomorrow. Maybe he should threaten that if he had to warn her again about too much partying, he would add baby photos of her in the bathtub with her brothers to his next howler and deliver it to her at breakfast. James was asleep upstairs, having moved back in when he lost his job. Harry sighed. Ginny was still at the Burrow, helping her mother take care of her dad, who was recovering from a broken hip that seemed resistant to all attempts at healing it. St. Mungo's thought it might be a curse from an artifact Arthur had found in a muggle junk yard. He sighed again.

He squinted at the extended family in the minute-hand marks and finally just enlarged them temporarily so he could see them better. George was in Shanghai with his wife, visiting one of his factories. Ron and Hermione were at home, and Rose and Hugo were at Hogwarts. Fleur wasn't showing up on the clock anymore, now that she and Bill were divorced, though Bill was home. Someone was with him, apparently, but it wasn't someone the clock recognized. Interesting, Harry thought. I'll have to give him a hard time about that, though he was actually relieved if that meant Bill was finally dating again. Teddy and Victoire were in Paris, and he suspected they were visiting Fleur. The clock chimed gently, as though agreeing with him. Charlie's location didn't show, which probably meant he was on a covert mission, and Percy was asleep at home.

It was a big family.

"They're all safe," came a voice. "I already checked."

"Dammit, Albus," Harry jumped, turning to face the painting in the kitchen hallway. The elderly wizard looked comically out of place crowding into the blue abstract figures in the muggle canvas. "You know you're not allowed in the paintings in my house anymore."

Dumbledore waved his hands irritably at the unmoving figures. "Well, trust me," he said, "it is no picnic for me, either. These things are terribly unyielding. I don't know how you can stand these two dimensional pictures."

"So now you're bothering the rest of my family, too?"

"I told you," he said, crossing his arms and glaring at Harry, "I had to check that they were all safe. Especially when you wouldn't wake up. You're an awfully heavy sleeper, you know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What seems to be bothering you, Headmaster?" Harry said, with exaggerated courtesy.

"We have a serious problem, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely. "Very, very serious, indeed."

Harry groaned inwardly. "Don't tell me," he said tiredly. "The dark mark has been spotted in Argentina again. Or you found another Voldemort love child?"

Dumbledore crossed his arms and glared at Harry. "There's no need to be so patronizing," he chided. "It's nothing like that." Harry waited patiently, or as patiently as he could where the paranoid portrait was concerned.

"It's the Elder Wand," Dumbledore finally said, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to satisfaction. "It's gone missing."

Just then, Harry's spell phone started ringing. An image of Neville Longbottom rose up off the screen, with a flashing red light that said "Headmaster Longbottom, urgent."

"Neville?"

"Hi Harry," came the worried voice of his friend. "Sorry to call so late."

"Professor Dumbledore already woke me up."

"Oh good. Then you know. Someone's taken it, Harry."

"Are you sure, or is that just what he's telling you?"

"Hey," the portrait yelled, "I can hear you, you know!"

Harry ignored the elderly wizard.

"No," Neville said regretfully. "I'm afraid it's true. I went to look myself. The tomb has been broken into and the wand taken. The wards were utterly obliterated, actually. That shouldn't have been possible. Here, I took a picture with the spell phone."

Harry stood there in stunned silence, looking at the chaotic scene and thinking about the implications. It was one thing to get cheeky with a portrait, but quite another to see the actual body of his mentor thrown on the ground, his coffin upended.

"OK," he finally said. "I'll be right there."

"Good," Neville said. "See you in a few."


	2. Chapter 2: The Tomb of Albus Dumbledore

"Everything alright, Dad?" James's sleepy voice made him jump.

"Oh, James, I didn't hear you coming down the stairs. Sorry to wake you."

"S'something wrong?" He yawned, stretching his arms above his head.

"Just a problem at Hogwarts. Nothing too serious, but I'm going to have to go out there tonight. You okay alone here?" James rolled his eyes.

"Wait, now? You're going now?" James peered into the hallway beyond the kitchen as a movement caught his eye. "Oh, hello, Headmaster. Haven't seen you here in awhile."

"Good evening, James," the portrait said pleasantly. "Or rather, I suppose I should say good morning. You're looking rather well, all things considered."

James was fully awake now.

"What is going on, here?" He asked. "What's wrong?"

Harry looked at his son in silence, wondering how much to tell him. Only he, Ron, and Hermione had known the fate of the Elder Wand. They had later agreed to tell Ginny and then Neville, as well. He wasn't even sure anyone else believed it had been the actual Deathstick itself; the crowd watching the Battle of Hogwarts had more or less heard what he and Tom had been yelling at each other, but few had really understood what they were on about, and no one had ever had the courage to ask him. He suspected Draco Malfoy knew, given that he had briefly been the wand's master, but they had never discussed it.

Harry sighed. "It's nothing, James. You should go back to bed."

James frowned, irritably flicking a lock of messy russet hair out of his eyes. "You know I can sense it," he said, crossing his arms. "I'm not a little kid anymore, Dad. I can handle it, whatever is wrong."

"He's right, you know," the portrait said sanctimoniously. "You underestimate your children."

"Thank you for that, Albus, Why don't you go on ahead," Harry snapped, adding a mild compulsion charm. Dumbledore promptly disappeared from the abstract canvas.

James was still watching him, arms crossed and eyes blazing.

Not for the first time, Harry thought about how inconvenient it was to have a clairvoyant in the family. James didn't go into trances and spout prophecies, thank Merlin - the irony of that would have been a little too much to take. But he could often sense the general direction of the future, and sometimes even present events beyond his physical awareness. It was almost impressionistic, like Harry taking his glasses off and guessing who was in the room and what they were doing based on the blur of colors and movements. A colleague of his in the International Confederation of Wizards thought James might develop more control over the visions as he aged, but Harry frankly hoped not. Foresight was not always a blessing. And in James's case, it had mainly just gotten him in trouble. Admittedly, trouble he had actively and even gleefully sought with his best mates while in school, but trouble, nonetheless.

James was not joking now, however, and he was right. He was unquestionably a grown man, and a powerful wizard, in his own right, even if Harry still saw the laughing little boy

"Dumbledore's tomb has been ransacked," he finally said softly. "An object of power was taken."

James's eyes unfocused and his pupils vibrated slightly. "It has something to do with you," he said, frowning. "It's tied to you."

"Yes," Harry said, resigned to having one more person in the know. "It's the Elder Wand."

James looked startled. "But that's just a bedtime story!" he exclaimed. Harry could tell his son had already sensed the truth, though, and gave him a moment to absorb it.

"No, I'm afraid not," he then said. "And most unfortunately, I am its master." James's mouth dropped open, but then he shut it with a snap and stared, wide-eyed, at his father.

Harry leaned forward and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Can you tell anything about where it might have gone?"

James closed his eyes for a minute, but then shook his head. "No," he said, disappointed. "Nothing's coming to me."

Harry walked into the kitchen and put his hand on the portkey, which was a porcelain cow, brightly painted and wearing a tutu and ballet slippers. Ginny's idea of a joke. "Well?" he asked his son mildly. "Are you coming?"

James smiled and stood taller, summoning his shoes and socks and transfiguring his flannel pajamas into jeans and a sweatshirt. Ginny was going to kill him, but James needed a challenge, something to restore his confidence. He'd been a top recruit in his year group at Hogwarts, but his job at a wizard investment bank, a new subsidiary of Gringott's, had not worked out. James hadn't really told them what happened, but Harry had a hunch it had to do with a prediction he made about his boss.

James put his hand over his father's, and the familiar pull seized them and sent them spinning towards Hogwarts.

Neville Longbottom was waiting for them at the front gate.

"Harry, thanks for coming so quickly. James," he nodded at his former student, showing no surprise at his presence. "Shall we go straight there?" Harry nodded grimly. Neville held two brooms out to them. "We can't portkey or apparate," he said apologetically. "When the wards were ripped apart, it disabled the portkey and left a great deal of stray voltage around - too charged for any magic, so don't use any spells. Not even lumos," he cautioned, holding up a couple of muggle torches. "I found out the hard way," he said ruefully, gesturing at the scorch marks in his robe.

Harry silently cast a repairing spell.

"Thanks," Neville said absently. "Shall we?" he gestured to the hills beyond the school.

They could sense the disturbance long before they could see it. The spell that had been used to disable the wards was whipping about in the air like a windstorm. It would leave a dark residue in these hills for years.

"Should have brought the spell cell," Harry muttered. The cell, a mix of muggle chemistry, potions, and runes, was something he had worked on with George's team. It could absorb and store curses and hexes until they could be safely discharged or destroyed. He would have to go back for it later.

"Let's get this over with," he said, raising his voice over the swirling currents at the mouth of the tomb and pointing his torch into the entrance.

The stone that usually sealed the grave had been cleaved in half and discarded nearby. He saw James shiver. "Are you seeing something?" Harry asked him quickly.

"Yeah, a two-ton enchanted rock, cut in half like a pat of butter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Really had to break the crystal ball for that one, didn't you?"

"It's all in how you frame the question."

Harry snorted.

"Shut it, you two," Neville said mildly as they entered the icy chamber. It was still and so silent, it almost made his ears ache with the effort to hear something. So it sounded like a thunderclap when James inhaled sharply as they shone the lights around the room. The coffin had been smashed to pieces, and the mementos that generations of Hogwarts' students had placed in the tomb were strewn around the floor, broken and burnt. But the most shocking sight was the body of the great wizard, naked and shriveled on the floor, shroud ripped off and skeletal hands broken.

"They banished the preservation spell," Harry said in shock. "They desecrated a corpse."

"Yes," Neville agreed softly.

Harry stalked forward and gathered the shroud in his hands to cover the corpse.

"Dad, no!" James shouted, a second too late. The moment Harry's hand touched the former Headmaster, a curse surged up through his body, electrocuting him to his magical core. He didn't even have time to scream before a merciful darkness took him.


	3. Chapter 3: The Hot Wife with Worries

Harry felt as though he were deep underwater, his head murky and his hearing a vaguely tubular muddle. Also, it seemed as though thousands of miniature merpeople were stabbing him all over his body with tiny tridents.

He suppressed a groan, since he didn't know where he was and didn't want to alert anyone that he was waking up until he had a chance to surveil the situation.

He opened his eyes a slit and let the room take shape. Either this is Hell, or it's Hogwart's Infirmary, he thought wryly. Of course. Either way, where else would he be? He shifted slightly and thought Poppy's skillset wasn't the only thing he'd outgrown; he barely fit in the child-sized cot. Then he remembered that Poppy had retired years ago, though he couldn't recall who had taken her place. Probably someone even less qualified, he grumped to himself. That might explain why he was still flat on his back, feeling lousy, with his feet hanging off the edge of the mattress.

Suddenly, he realized someone was sitting next to the bed. He squinted, focusing on the figure. The Scottish morning light filtering in through the long windows was, of course, gray, but it was bright enough to catch the copper glint of a Weasley. His very own Weasley.

Ginny was reading something intently, highlighting it occasionally with a magic marker. He watched her appreciatively. She was wearing a high-collared black, shearling-trimmed vest over a white silk t-shirt and soft gray pants that hugged every curve of her trim, athletic legs. Her long hair was pulled back in a sleek pony tail, the dark red complementing her smooth, tanned complexion. His wife, he knew, was hot.

It wasn't always that way, but her 30th birthday had changed everything. She was in the bathroom that morning when he heard her scream. He came running only to find her staring into the mirror with a horrified expression, hands gripping the sides of the basin.

"What?" He had said breathlessly from the doorway. "What is it? What's happened?"

"My mother," Ginny muttered, never taking her eyes off her own reflection.

"Your mother? What about her?" He had asked in confusion. "Is she alright?"

Ginny had turned to him in anguish. "I'm turning into my mother! I'm only 30 years old, and I already look like my mother!" She wailed. "Look! Look at this!" she said feverishly, pinching the pudge around her middle, pulling at the pocket under her chin. She twisted around and examined her backside in the mirror.

"I've always rather liked the way your mother looks," he said, trying to reassure her. "It's comfortable, you know? It's home."

Needless to say, that was not the right response. His wife had two great magical talents, and he was immediately on the receiving end of one. It took his nose at least a week to get back to its normal shape and color, much to the amusement of his brothers-in-law, who never did persuade Ginny to teach them that hex.

She turned to her talent for potion-making, too, just not right away and not at his expense, fortunately.

Ginny was like a woman possessed; at first, it was just the workouts. She went to a muggle gym for hours every day. Then she added a room onto the house and built her own spell-enhanced gym. She also quit her job in George's potions research department and set up her own laboratory in the basement. Ginny spent years perfecting her concoctions - hair coloring and restoring elixirs, skin-enhancing salves, fat-burning capsules. Now, she was the head of a multi-million galleon industry, Ginevra, a complete line of cosmetics and wellness products. "It's Magic," scrawled itself across every package in Ginny's handwriting, punctuated by a small, sparkling star.

"Like what you see, then?"

Ginny had put down her pen and was watching him in amusement.

"You know I do," he said, embarrassed when his voice emerged as a frail croak.

Ginny leaned over him and smoothed his hair away from his forehead.

"Thought you could get away from me that easily?" She said with mock asperity. "I mean, if this is your idea of a mid-life crisis," a running joke between them, ever since Ron started buying expensive muggle cars, "maybe I'd rather you just shag the babysitter."

"Is that an option, then?" He murmured. "I didn't realize we still had a babysitter."

She smiled at him, and he was alarmed to see there were tears in her eyes.

"Almost lost you," Ginny said softly. "Didn't think we'd ever have to worry about that again."

"What happened?" he asked.

"You don't remember?"

He frowned, struggling to think clearly. "Neville called... It was about the Elder Wand. We made it out to Dumbledore's tomb...with - oh my God, James!" he looked around frantically. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Ginny said soothingly. "He's home now - he was at St. Mungo's. He apparated you out of the tomb here and suffered burns over much of his body, but he's healing just fine."

"Wait, why didn't I go to St. M's with him? Why am I here?"

Ginny looked at him, hesitating, as if she weren't sure how much to tell him.

"You were very badly hurt," she started slowly. "You almost died, in fact," she added in a low voice. "You probably would have if James hadn't gotten you this far so quickly. The curse fried your magical core and electrocuted you physically - very nasty business."

"James was lucky to get you out of there at all," a voice came from behind her, Neville gradually coming into view over her shoulder. "I don't know how he knew we had to get you out of there. Well, yes, I do know," Neville acknowledged. "We couldn't perform any magic on you without a serious backlash - it electrocuted you again, every time we tried."

The mischievous look returned to Ginny's eyes. "We still daren't even enlarge the bed, mind you."

He groaned. "How long have I been out?"

"A couple of weeks," Neville responded gently.

"Did you say weeks?"

"Yes, sweetheart," Ginny said, cupping her hand to his cheek. "You've been in a... what's it called, Neville?"

"A medically-induced coma," he responded. "We've been using muggle medicines to keep you unconscious, give your magic and your body a chance to heal."

"We just cut the drugs back yesterday," Ginny explained. "So we hoped you'd wake up soon."

He peered at her more closely and saw the fatigue and worry in her eyes, even though he caught the scent of her Refresh potion.

"I'm fine," he said, smiling up at her and covering her hand with his own. "Really. I'll be back to myself in no time."

Ginny nodded, but the worried look did not leave her eyes.

"Any clue as to who did this, Nev?" he asked his friend.

"No, none at all," Neville admitted. "We don't know much more than we did when we went into the tomb."

"But you know something," Harry prompted.

Neville shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. "That curse," he said slowly, "it was intended to be lethal. You have damn quick reflexes, or it would have been. You got a shield up in time to mute the effect."

"Stupid of me, really," Harry muttered. "I should have known there would be a curse for anyone who touched the body."

"No," Neville corrected him, "not for anyone."

Harry looked at him in confusion.

"Just you, Harry. Only your magical signature could trigger that curse." He watched how Harry received the news. "Whoever took the Elder Wand appears to also know what it will take to truly possess it."

"My death," Harry finished.

"I'm afraid so," Neville sighed.


	4. Chapter 4: In Recovery

_**AN: So, didn't attract a whole lot of readers, but decided to continue, anyway. It's been awhile, but I believe my original intent is that James, the oldest Potter, is about 23 now, and Harry is 46. **_

The next time Harry woke up, it was dark in the ward and he was alone. He could hear the rustling of movement nearby, though, so he reached out for his glasses, activating the night vision with a non-verbal spell. He craned his neck to get a better look around the room.

"You're awake then?" Came a soft, feminine voice. "Don't be alarmed; I made your wife go home to get some rest."

He frowned; he could see the medi-witch outfit, but could not immediately identify the woman wearing it, though her voice sounded familiar.

"It's Kara," she reminded him, noticing his confusion as she came to the bedside. "James's...friend."

She hesitated a bit, for she had been far more than a friend. Indeed, everyone had expected the couple to marry after graduation from Hogwarts, but about a year after they moved to London together, James had broken it off suddenly. It took months for Ginny to stop threatening to hex James every time she saw him, but he refused to explain what happened. They never saw Kara again. Until now, he thought, wondering why she was here.

"I work at Hogwarts now," she explained, reading his expression. "I took over as chief healer last year, after finishing my residency."

"Oh," Harry said, smiling weakly at her. "I, er, didn't know you wanted to be a healer."

Kara smiled at him. "Runs in the family," she said. "My father is a doctor, too."

Harry had forgotten she was muggleborn.

"So was it your idea to put me into...what was it... a coma?"

"Yes," she replied, shining wand-light into his eyes, as she murmured a diagnostic spell. "We used potions and muggle medicines to keep you asleep so your core could replenish and your body could heal faster."

"Did it work, then?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, I should say so. Though you're still not back to full strength. You should be well enough to go home in a couple of days, and back to work by next week."

"Thank you, Kara," he said softly. "My wife tells me you saved my life."

"Your son did that," she replied gently. "But I am relieved to see you looking better."

"You, ah, you saw James, then?"

"I stabilized him and sent him along to St. Mungo's. He'll be fine."

"I see," Harry responded after an uncomfortable pause. "Thank you, Kara, for taking care of him," he said, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. Their eyes met.

Later, he would tell himself he didn't purposefully legilimens her, that her thoughts were so close to the surface, he would have had to close his mind behind a concrete wall not to hear her.

"_Please please please stop making me talk about him_," her mind whispered at him. He saw her flash of memories, including some things he'd rather not have seen his son doing, and then, he saw Kara sobbing, head in her hands. James was crying, too.

"_I know you don't really love me_," he was saying harshly. _"I've __**seen**__ you with another man_."

"_No, James! There's no one else! There will never be anyone else! How can you think that_?"

Kara looked away, face flushed, and he realized she was aware that he'd seen her memories.

"Kara," he started, "I'm so sorry..."

"Mr. Potter," she interrupted. "I...don't...I can't..."

"We've missed you," he said softly, giving her hand another squeeze. She drew in a breath to answer, but at that exact moment, his spellphone started to buzz.

They both jumped.

"You should answer that," she said, nodding at the phone. "They've been very anxious about talking to you, but I didn't clear you for calls until today. Well, yesterday, now." Her wand slid gracefully into her hand. "But let me take care of this first - it's safe now. _Engorgio, mansuetes_."

The bed lengthened and widened, and the mattress thickened and deepened. He sighed in appreciation and smiled at her.

"_Mansuetes_," he said, "that's a new one on me. I'll have to remember that - always good to have a soft bed." She gave him a pained smile before gliding out of the ward into the next room.

He dimmed the infrared in his glasses and looked at the phone. It was his Deputy.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" he said, frowning at the phone.

"Too true," Sahara yawned. "But the alert went off when you woke up, and your vitals finally look reasonable."

"How do you know that?"

"Those new bio-magic scanners Kingsley had us install in the phones," she explained patiently. "Remember?"

"Vaguely. So what's up?"

"Other than the fact that someone tried to assassinate you again?"

He snorted. "It hasn't happened for a long time, Zabini. Years."

"Yeah, but I would say this was the most serious attempt ever. Certainly since that old Mulciber nutter."

He shrugged. "So, what do you have for me?" he asked.

"OK if I come in person?" she responded.

"Sure."

"Be there in about 20 minutes."

He nodded and switched the phone completely off; he decided no one else in the Ministry needed to know how often he used the bedpan.

"Kara?" he called softly.

She swished back into the room. "Yes Mr. Potter?"

"A colleague is coming to see me in a few minutes. We may need to ward off this room."

"A warded ward?" she said with a lopsided smile, which he returned.

"Indeed."

"Not a problem, but do remember to drop the protections when your colleague departs, please."

"Of course," Harry reassured her. "Do you have many patients in the infirmary tonight?"

"We call it the Health Center now," Kara said absently, "and just one. Quidditch injury, naturally. We have far fewer illnesses since we've started the vaccine program." He raised his eyebrows.

"All of us raised in the muggle world were vaccinated," she explained, "but it was always assumed it wasn't necessary for magical children, with their natural resistance. Stupid really, and it's standard now to vaccinate, including against some illnesses unique to the wizarding world. We've all but eliminated dragon pox," she said proudly. "Of course, the Americans already have; they were a step ahead of us."

"As they so frequently like to remind us," Harry noted, chuckling.

"Feel like sharing the joke?" Came a voice from the doorway.

"That was quick," Harry said approvingly, as his Deputy strode into the room. Six feet tall and radiating self-confidence, Sahara Zabini was an intimidating person, to say the least. Of course, her penchant for bad puns tended to ruin the effect. But the young medi-witch, for all her gentle manner, only stood up straighter, fixing her guest with a somewhat suspicious look distinctly reminiscent of Poppy Pomphrey.

"Kara Smythe-Babington, please meet Sahara Zabini, Deputy Chief of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he said, as graciously as he could prone in a hospital bed.

"There's a Jacob Zabini here," Kara said. "And by here, I mean he is out in the other ward, with a broken wrist."

"Nephew," Sahara said, holding out a hand. "I have no children of my own, thank Merlin, but my brother's do their level best to keep us all busy."

"That they do," Kara said easily, shaking the older witch's hand. "Well, I'll leave you two to it. Let me know if you need anything, and please, Deputy Chief, try not to tire my patient too much." The look the medi-witch shot her guest and her patient was at least as formidable as anything his fearsome colleague could summon. Sahara inclined her head and waited until Kara was out the door before she placed insta-wards at the doorway and began casting silencing, muffling, and cloaking spells. Harry raised his eyebrows at her level of caution.

"Can't be too careful," she said matter-of-factly, "especially since we don't know what we're dealing with."

"Please tell me you have something," Harry groaned.

Zabini sat gracefully in the chair next to the bed, tapping the ring on her index finger. The stone detached and enlarged into a tablet, which began showing images.

"We sent a team out to the tomb," she began, "with a spell cell. They were unable to contain the curse, however, and we had to send a couple of Weasley engineers out to study the site and modify the cell. They were finally able to contain the curse just a few days ago."

Harry whistled when he saw the cell, which was the size of a hippogriff.

"Yes, quite large. And not possible to portkey or apparate; they had to move it overland, so we took it to the Ministry's Hogsmead location and have effectively built a laboratory around it."

"Is that safe?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't we have more distance from the village?"

"We cleared out the underground vault," she nodded, showing him the photo, "and added extensive shielding, including something called a Faraday cage."

"Electromagnetic shielding," he noted, and she raised her eyebrows at him, "which makes sense given what the curse did to me."

"Not that I totally understand it, myself, but we have a couple of unspeakables working with the engineers, and they all seem very excited about it. Oh, and you should take this," she pulled out a small vial, with a violent red potion inside. "You were exposed to radiation, too," she said crisply. "This should eliminate any lingering effects your magic hasn't already dealt with."

He saluted her and swigged it, grimacing at the taste.

"You were expecting cherry-flavored?" she asked mildly.

He grimaced at her again. "What else have they found out?"

"Not much yet," she admitted, "beyond the radioactivity, but there is one other thing," she started, and then frowned, looking at the bedside table.

"Why is your phone light on?" she barked.

"What?" he said in confusion.

"Did you forget to hang up after we spoke?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"No," he replied, picking up the device. "In fact, I turned it completely off, so the bio-magic scans would be off."

They both stared at the device in his hand, which was clearly on. He started to put it to his ear.

"No," Zabini exclaimed, jumping up and snatching the phone from him. "Give it to me." She put it to her own ear. "Hello?" she demanded. "Who is there?" The light suddenly shut off.

"I heard a click," she said, staring at him.

"Good God," he muttered. "Do you think someone was listening?"

She just frowned at the device in her hand. "I don't know. I've never heard of something like that, but it was definitely on."

They looked at each other.

"I'll be right back," she said.

Zabini released the wards and disappeared into the next room. About 20 minutes later, she returned, empty-handed and out of breath.

"I pushed it to Hogsmeade," she reported, restoring the wards and reapplying the protective spells, "along with my own. They'll take a look."

He nodded. "So, what else did you find so far?" he said, doing his best to act unconcerned.

"All they've been able to tell so far is that the spell did not originate here."

"What do you mean?"

"It was not cast by an English wizard. The magical signature is foreign."

"Do they know where it came from, then?" he asked.

"No. Not yet. Oh, and there is one more thing they've been able to tell so far."

"What's that?" Harry asked warily, sensing he wasn't going to like it.

"The curse wasn't just keyed to your magical signature," she said softly. "It also appears it was linked to your blood."

"What?"

"They found your D-N-A in the curse," she said, staring at him intently. "The very structure of the cells in your body - probably blood magic, but further tests will likely give them more clarity on that. Any idea how someone could have gotten some of your blood?"

"No clue," he replied, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I generally try to keep it in my body."

"Well," Zabini said, suddenly rising, "that's all we have for now. I'm sorry I don't have more to tell you. But given the foreign link, we've stopped including the Weasley engineers."

"Why's that?" he frowned.

"They've a number of joint ventures going, you know," she reminded him. "A number of their engineers are not British citizens."

"Do you have any reason to suspect them?" Harry asked sharply.

"Now, don't take that tone with me," Zabini scolded. "You know I'm the last person to discriminate unnecessarily." Sahara had been disowned by most of her family - her half-brother, Blaise, being a notable exception - for marrying a muggle. The fact that his family was Nigerian did not go over well, either. "But we need to be careful until we know more, okay?"

"Okay," he sighed. "But I'd like to talk to George about it."

"Not yet, if you please," Zabini cautioned. "Let's wait until we have more results. I suspect you're going to want to talk to a different Weasley brother, in any case."

Charlie was one of their covert operatives, and Bill occasionally did undercover work for the Ministry, too, though that usually involved Goblin treaty obligations.

"Get some sleep, boss," Zabini said sympathetically. "I'll let you know if we find anything." She frowned at him. "Guess I'll have to come back in person or send one of the analysts to brief you."

"Guess so," he sighed. "Thanks, Sahara. Make sure you're getting some sleep, too."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll sleep when I'm dead," she snarked, and he couldn't stop himself from shuddering. "And I am not a seer, my dear man, just sarcastic, so save me the theatrics. I'll just unward the ward, here," she smirked.

"Dr. Smythe-Babington beat you to that one," he commented.

"Knew there was a reason I liked that woman," Zabini chuckled as she tapped the insta-wards. "Now excuse me while I go see my nephew." She stalked out, muttering something about being surrounded by accident-prone people. The next day, Harry could hardly remember when she left, as he fell instantly and deeply asleep the moment she crossed the threshold.


	5. Chapter 5: Secret Loves

_**AN: Having fun with the story set up - promise to move the plot soon! Thanks for the reviews - I really appreciate it.**_

Harry couldn't quite remember what woke him up, but he was pretty sure he'd been dreaming someone was chasing him.

Sunlight, he thought, as he cracked his eyelids. Now I know I must be dreaming.

But it was, in fact, a sunny winter day in Scotland. Better than a cold day in hell, I guess, Harry grumped to himself. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw two people sitting by his bed, one with dark, messy hair just like his own, the other with hair so fair it was nearly silver.

"No, Scorp," said the dark haired one, "I really think it's Phrygian."

"I could swear it's Urartuan," the silvery boy said.

"Maybe it's Assyrian," Harry croaked.

"Dad!" exclaimed Albie, the book sliding off his lap with a loud thwack. Harry winced.

"Sorry," his middle child said, retrieving the tome. "We were just studying."

"Advanced ancient runes?" Harry asked, and both boys nodded. "Hi, Scorpius. How are you?"

"Better than you are, sir, if you'll forgive me for saying so."

"That's a pretty low bar, son."

Both boys chuckled.

"I'm just going to floo call Mom," Albie said, rising quickly and handing his book to his friend. "She wanted me to let her know as soon as you woke up. Be right back."

Harry nodded and smiled at his son, turning to the Malfoy heir.

"How's your Dad?" Harry asked politely.

"He's well," Scorpius said.

"Still in Anatolia?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, well, that's good. He's doing important work there."

Scorpius gave him a wide smile.

"Has he found anything interesting lately?"

"Oh yes, yes he has," the young man said enthusiastically. "They found an ancient cistern, and it's just covered in pictographs. Very old Earth magic, they think."

Harry listened as Scorpius continued to describe the dig in great detail, taking the opportunity to examine the boy. He had looked a great deal like his father when he was younger, but was taller now, broad through the shoulders, with a strong jaw and eyes so dark they were almost black. Must be his mother's side of the family, Harry, thought. Fortunately, he didn't seem to have inherited the Malfoy swagger, either.

Harry shook his head slightly; it would never cease to amaze him that his son and Draco Malfoy's son would be inseparable from day one, even before they were sorted. That didn't make him best friends with Draco, of course, but once they had accepted the situation, it turned out they actually got on reasonably well, to their mutual surprise.

Scorpius smiled at him and fell silent, as he realized Harry was no longer listening to him.

"Sorry to prattle on, Mr. Potter," he offered.

"Not at all," Harry said hastily. "I'm afraid I'm not myself just now."

Albie came back in, and put one hand gently on his schoolmate's shoulder. "Mom will be here in about an hour - we should be getting to class, Dad."

"Sure, sure," Harry smiled. "You go on ahead - thanks for babysitting me."

Both boys chuckled.

"Will you guys be coming to our house for spring break this year?" he asked, as they gathered their books.

He saw them exchange a look.

"Or not?" he added, amused.

"Well, uh, Scorp's dad invited us to Turkey," Albie said apologetically. "And it's what we're studying and all..."

"Totally fine," Harry waved at him. "Sounds great."

"Love you, Dad," Albie smiled, kissing Harry on the cheek. "I'll be back later so we can catch up."

"Thanks, son. Good to see you, Scorpius."

"You, too, Mr. Potter. Um, I mean, it's not good, exactly..."

"It's okay - I know what you mean. Get to class, you two."

Kara came in as soon as the boys had departed.

"And how are we feeling today?" she asked, immediately sweeping her wand over him.

"Why don't you tell me?" he snapped. "You're the one running a diagnostic spell."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Sorry," he muttered. "We're feeling a bit cranky today, apparently."

"That's normal," she said nonchalantly. "You've been in bed for nearly three weeks now, after all."

He clenched his jaw and rubbed at his scar.

"You might want to try getting up a bit, as a matter of fact. Maybe when Mrs. Potter gets here," she added.

"Thank you, Kara. Forgive me for snapping."

She conjured a fresh water glass. "Goes with the territory," she commented.

"Is your other patient still here?"

"He's probably back on the Quidditch pitch by now," she laughed. "That boy was out of here like an overpowered stupefy the moment I cleared him."

"Yeah, I can remember that feeling," Harry said, doing his best to smile at her. "So, did you train at St. Mungo's?" he asked, struggling to think of some polite conversation.

"Yes, of course," she answered, "and I studied at Cambridge, as well. I'm still finishing my muggle coursework at Glasgow, in fact."

Harry nodded. This was the way they had all planned it, to mix magic with the best of the muggle world.

"And how well do you think St. Mungo's has incorporated muggle technique?"

Kara shrugged. "Not too well," she allowed. "They could be doing much better, in my opinion - there are so many possibilities. What we did with your treatment, for example."

"Good," he nodded, "well, I guess we'll just have to look to you to be a trailblazer, then."

They chatted about some of the changes she would like to see, until they heard footsteps approaching the ward. Kara jumped up and began heading for the door, nearly running over Ginny.

"Oh, ah, Mrs. Potter. Your husband is much better. I'll just let you two alone, then."

Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but Kara all but ran from the room, disappearing into her office and closing the door behind her with a firm smack.

Ginny sighed. "I wish she weren't so afraid to talk to me," she said softly. "I won't say anything that would embarrass her or hurt her feelings, you know."

Harry winced as he remembered what had happened earlier that morning, and Ginny narrowed her eyes at him

"What did you do?"

"That's it? No, hello, honey, how are you feeling, glad you're still not dead?"

"Hello, honey, how are you feeling etcetera. There. Now, what did you do?"

"I kind of legilimensed her."

"What?" Ginny raised a hand to her mouth. "You what?"

"It was an accident," he scowled at her. "She made eye contact with me when she was feeling a little vulnerable, okay?"

"Harry James Potter, I'm disappointed in you," she sat down next to him on the bed with a flounce. "So? Spit it out. What did you see?"

"Oh, let's not make the poor girl's misery worse by gossiping about it."

Ginny crossed her arms and frowned at him, tapping her fingers on her elbow.

"Fine then," he sighed. "Have it your way. Well, they had a good time together, obviously," Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. "Okay, yes, a very good time, and it's something no father should ever see his child doing." Ginny made a choking sound. "And then he dumped her. Told her he saw her cheating on him, which she denied. They were both crying."

"What did you sense from her?"

He didn't say anything right away. "It's as raw for her as if it happened yesterday," he said quietly, "rather than four, almost five years ago. She is not even the least bit over him - it was painful to feel the intensity of her memories, actually." Ginny bit her lip and stared at her husband.

"But he said she cheated on him?"

"Yeah."

"What exactly did he say?"

"He said, 'I know you don't love me, I saw you with another man.'"

Ginny gasped. "I saw you, that's what he said?" They stared at each other.

"You don't think..." Harry trailed off.

"Oh sweet Merlin," Ginny whispered. "It can't be, can it?"

"Call her in here," Harry suggested.

"Oh, honey, no. We can't just put her under the inquisition and ask her how her sex life's been. It's none of our business." She bit her lip. "Is it?"

He sighed. "I tell you what, I'll look for an opening to ask a couple of tactful questions, and you see what you can get out of James."

Ginny snorted. "He won't tell me a thing," she said. "He never does. Just like his father," she narrowed her eyes at him and pursed her lips.

"Ginny, there's nothing to tell."

"Right. And that's why Zabini was here this morning."

He didn't even bother asking her how she knew. He had accepted long ago that her intelligence was even better than the Ministry's. "They don't know anything definitive yet," he said patiently, and then frowned. "But they did take away my spell phone as a precaution."

"What for?"

"Don't really know," he sighed, "but you might want to watch yours, see if it's acting strangely - coming on at odd times, without your magic, no one seems to be there and such."

"Alright then. I'll keep watch." She smoothed his hair away from his forehead. "How are you feeling, really?"

"Tired," he admitted, "even though I'm doing nothing but sleep. I'm getting too old for this."

She searched his face. "Maybe it is time for you to retire from the Ministry," she murmured. "It's not as if we need the money."

He looked at her in surprise. "You really do think I'm getting old?"

"No," she said irritably, gesturing at the hospital bed, "I think this is getting old."

"Oh come on, Ginny," he scoffed. "It hasn't happened for a long time. You're as bad as Zabini."

"Except that I'm your wife, not your employee," she snapped.

He rubbed his thumb along her wrist. "What is it, now?" he asked her gently. "What's worrying you?"

"I don't know," she admitted, giving him a wan smile and holding his hand. "Something just feels...off. This one is different. James thinks so, too." She stroked the stubble on his chin. "Just...just be careful, okay?"

"Well, I can assure you I'm not going anywhere right now. Though Kara did suggest that I try walking around the room, with your help. You game?"

Leaning heavily on his wife's shoulder, Harry was grateful, possibly for the first time, that they were nearly the same height. They made it all the way around the room once before he needed to lie down again. As he lay panting on top of the blankets, Ginny pulled an enchanted cloth from her purse - it was cool and feather light against his sweaty forehead, with a refreshing minty and lavender scent. He felt his breathing slow and his muscles relax.

"Well," he huffed, "that was a huge success."

"I should show you the memory of how you looked when you first got here," she said mildly. "Trust me, this is a big improvement."

"No doubt," he acknowledged, closing his eyes.

"Did Kara say how soon you can come home?" she asked, gently wiping his face again, and this time, the cloth warmed slightly, in sync with his cooling skin.

"A couple of days."

"Good. Why don't you rest now? I'll be here for a few more hours before I have to go to a meeting."

"Love you," he muttered, as his eyes slid closed.

"Love you, too," she said, kissing his forehead.

She was gone when he woke up again, and it was dark in the ward. Albie was reading by wandlight at his bedside.

"Still ancient runes?" he asked.

Albie looked up, smiling. "No, history now. I can't believe how soon the NEWTs are."

"You feel ready?"

"Not yet," Albie sighed.

"You'll do fantastically well, I'm sure. You always do. Are you still first in your class?"

"No, Rose is first now, but Scorpius and I are right behind her."

Rose Weasley had, without question, taken after her mother, who really was the brightest witch of her generation.

"How's Rose doing?"

"She's good," Albie said, shrugging. "She kind of keeps to her Ravenclaw friends these days, but we still hang out sometimes."

"How are things in Slytherin?"

"Not bad," Albie answered. "Pretty lively group of first years this year - yet another Zabini - so they've been keeping me busy. That reminds me. Chief Zabini came by - she left something for you with Dr. Babe."

"Dr. Babe?"

"That's what everyone calls her," Albie said reasonably, "Smythe-Babington is kind of a mouthful, and, well, she is pretty hot. What she ever saw in James, I can't imagine."

"Isn't she a little old for you?" Harry asked with a chuckle, but Albie actually looked very uncomfortable, and he wondered if he'd struck a nerve.

"You decided what you're going to do after school yet?"

"Well, Mr. Malfoy has offered us both jobs, and we're thinking about that. I figure we'll see how things go in March. I like the idea of research, and we're both really good at ancient runes."

"So you and Scorpius are going to stick together, then?"

Albie blushed furiously.

"Um, yeah, Dad. Look, there's something I need to tell you..."

But it was not to be; Kara chose that moment to walk in.

"Oh, you're still here, Albie. It's getting awfully close to curfew, you know. You should probably get going."

"Yeah," Albie sighed, packing up his books. "I suppose so, I'll...I'll talk to you tomorrow, Dad, okay?"

"Okay, son. Have a good sleep."

"You, too. Hope you're feeling better."

Kara watched him go.

"He's such a good kid," she said softly. "Oh, and Lily came by, too, but you were asleep."

"No doubt she stayed still for about 30 seconds before she was off to the next thing."

"She is...lively," Kara agreed, holding out a packet to him. "This is for you."

He opened the packet, and a mirror slid out with a small note. _Director_, it said, _here's a two-way mirror until we have our spell phones back. Just say my name and it will call me. Nothing new yet, but I will come by to see you tomorrow. SZ_

"Everything alright, then?" Kara asked.

"Fine," he said. "Fancy a game of chess?"

In the end, Harry didn't have to start an awkward conversation with his son's ex-girlfriend; she started it herself, in the middle of their second game.

"So, ah," she said, staring at the board, "so how is James, anyway?"

"James?" Harry said, looking up at her in surprise, and then cursing himself silently as she jumped and shot him a look of embarrassed regret.

"Oh, he's fine. Well, no, he's not really fine. Aside from having burns over 3/4 of his body. He lost his job, you know."

"Really?" she was trying very hard to sound uninterested, and failing miserably.

"Won't really tell us what happened, but then he never does," he said pointedly.

"Oh. Oh, I see," she commented, clearing her throat. "Is he, ah, is he seeing anyone?"

"No," Harry said immediately. "Not right now, not that I know of. And I guess we would know, since he's living with us right now."

"Oh." she said, falling silent as she moved her bishop.

"Are you?" Harry finally said, trying to sound casual.

"Am I what?"

"Are you...you know, seeing anyone?"

Kara looked at him, meeting his eyes, but this time she kept her mind closed to him. "No," she said softly. "No, I'm not seeing anyone."

"Has there, um, been anyone special in your life?"

Kara continued staring at him. "I didn't cheat on him, if that's what you're asking me."

"It's not," he said gently. "Look, I am very sorry I intruded on your memories; I did not intend to."

"I know," she said quickly, but he held up his hand.

"Kara, look, I don't want to interfere, and you'd be well within your rights to tell me to mind my own business, but in your memory, he said he saw you with someone else."

She flushed bright red and looked away from him.

"I can't have this conversation with you," she whispered.

"Is it possible he was seeing something in the future? Have you dated at all since you and James broke up?"

She looked back at him, startled, her mouth open, and said nothing at all for what seemed like an eternity.

"Yes," she finally said. "I've dated here and there, nothing too serious. But there was that one guy at St. M's... We..."

"Yeah," Harry said, holding up a hand, "yeah, I don't need the details. But is it possible that's what he saw?"

Now there were tears crowding out of her eyes, trailing down her face.

"Oh, Merlin," she whispered, "he meant nothing to me." And then she started sobbing in earnest. Harry moved the board off the bed and pulled her awkwardly into his arms. He held her and stroked her hair gently, saying the sorts of soothing, nonsense phrases he used to say to the kids when they were little. Once she had settled down, though, gasping for air, she sprang back from him suddenly.

"I'm so sorry," she said, jumping to her feet and smoothing her hands down her skirt. "This is so unprofessional of me. I'll just let you get back to rest, now."

"Kara," he said intently, grabbing her hand. "It's okay. I will talk to him if you want me to."

"No," she said, pulling her hand gently away, "no, no. I don't think... No. No thank you. It's okay. You should rest." She backed up a few steps, and then turned and ran.

"Well," he said, slapping his palms down on the blanket. "That went well."


End file.
